Hands in the Air
by Verno Inferno
Summary: Sam and Dean at a school dance. Weecest: Sam is 14. The title is taken from Hands in the Air by Teen Hearts. Enjoy.


While in California investigating a haunted high school, Dean caught Sam eyeing flyers for a school dance. He was surprised, Sam never seemed like the dancing type, and whenever there was a dance at whatever school Sam was attending that week there was never any mention of it.

Regardless, as they tiptoed through the halls of Bear Valley High, Sam's eyes lingered on the brightly colored signs that boasted a Mardi Gras themed dance in the gym on Saturday. Sam's flashlight always seemed to find a flyer or banner, all yelling PARTY and CELEBRATE at them in massive purple and green letters. One poster threatened Sam and Dean that they better be there or be square.

And Dean knew this was supposed to be a hunt, a big one, one that Dad had trusted he and Sam with on their own, but it was so hard to concentrate when every time Dean turned around Sam would meet his eyes with a sad smile. He hated seeing Sammy unhappy, and vowed he would find them a way into that dance.

The next day, after a quick call to Dad, Dean shakes Sam from his slumber.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam whines, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He doesn't wait for an answer, just burrows himself back under the scratchy motel comforter.

"We're going to that school dance, Sammy boy. Get up." Dean slaps Sam's thigh under the blankets for emphasis.

Sam shoots up, suddenly wide awake. "We're going? You mean it?" He suddenly realizes he sounds way too eager. He clears his throat, shrugging his shoulders in feigned indifference. "Why the school dance?"

"Because we have to finish this hunt," Dean began, shucking off the shirt he had slept in and rummaging in his duffle for a clean one, "and because I saw the way you were drooling over the posters last night. Don't say I never did anything for you." Dean grins.

Sam gives Dean a tired smile, "You're the best Dean. But, the dance isn't for another twelve hours. Let me go back to sleep." He burrows himself even further into the blankets and closes his eyes.

"But Sam, what about the-"

"Dad's not here, Dean, we can finish the hunt later, when it's not 7 in the morning." Sam effectively shuts Dean up with a sleepy look in his direction.

Dean sighs, defeated, tossing the clean shirt back in the duffel and making his way towards Sam's huddling form. "Alright, Sammy boy." Sam pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed, Dean slipping in under them. He reaches over Sam to set the alarm on the nightstand before burrowing himself in blankets as well, wrapping an arm around Sam's waist.

-:-

Sam wakes with the alarm, slams the snooze button in annoyance. The glowing red letters in front of his face read 6:00, and he figures now is as good a time as any to mosey on out of his comforter cocoon. This was what he loved about hunts without dad; while Dean was usually as no nonsense about hunts as John was, all Sammy had to do was give him those puppy dog eyes and Dean would crumble. "Sure Sammy, we can stay in and watch tv all day, the hunt can wait… Sure, Sammy, we'll get one big bed instead of two small ones… Sure Sammy, let's go to that school dance."

Sam pries Dean's arm from around his middle, careful not to wake him. They've got an hour until this dance and Sam is buzzing with excitement.

It's not all about the dance, really. Sam has little desire to make a fool of his gangly self on the dance floor, although the prospect of dancing with Dean makes Sam grin stupidly and sets the butterflies in his stomach all aflutter. It's more about the feeling of _normal_ it'll give Sam. He was fourteen, and kids his age went to school dances. In Sam's mind, if he did normal things, maybe some normal would rub off on him. He knew it was ridiculous, but he could dream, couldn't he?

Sam walks to his duffel, the room lit only by the television Dean forgot to shut off before he dozed. He pulls out the first shirt his hand touches, a green striped one, the sleeves almost too short for his arms seeing as he was growing more and more every god damn day. It was nothing extravagant, but Sam had no one to impress. He rummages for a pair of jeans, ones devoid of blood stains or remnants of graveyard dirt and pads over to the bathroom.

By the time he gets out of the shower, Dean's slowly waking up, wiping the sleep from his eyes, looking around the dimly lit room for Sammy. Sam can hear him groaning as his joints creak and crack and knows that if he doesn't let Dean know where he is he's going to freak out. So around a mouthful of toothpaste Sam calls out to Dean, meaning to tell him that he's in the bathroom, although his words come out muffled and watery. He hears Dean relax back into the bed.

Sam steps out of the bathroom, shaking the clinging droplets of water off his mop of hair. He looks at Dean who is still in bed, one leg thrown off the side of the mattress, eyes glued to the ceiling. "We don't have to do this, you know. Go to this dance." Sam says quietly. Dean doesn't look all too excited about the prospect of comingling with a bunch of kids all night, and really, Sam _would_ be disappointed if he didn't get to go, but he wasn't about to make Dean do something he didn't want to.

"Just tired is all, Sammy boy," Dean begins, slowly sitting himself up. He motions Sam over, and Sam sits himself in the circle of Dean's arms. His back presses against Dean's warm chest and he rests his head on Dean's shoulder. Dean kisses Sam's cheek and leans in close to his ear, "Of course I want to go to this nerdy school dance. I know how important this 'normal childhood' thing is to you, so I'll humor it for the night. Plus who knows, we might actually have fun." Sam feels Dean wink against his temple before he gets up and announces that they'll leave after he takes a shower.

-:-

Forty-five minutes later they're in the car en route to Bear Valley High. About halfway there it hits Sam that he and Dean aren't students.

"What if they don't let us in?" he asks Dean, suddenly worried.

"Then we sneak in, Sammy boy," Dean shrugs like it's nothing, like sneaking into schools wasn't at all a creepy thing to do. Sam smiles at Dean's idea of a quick fix, but is nervous the rest of the ride.

The clock in the Impala reads 7:15. They're late, but when Sam makes Dean aware of this his brother just winks, tells Sam, "The party won't start 'til I walk through that door, baby." Sam laughs at his brother's cockiness as he slides out of the car.

They have no trouble getting into the dance. Small towns don't usually boast high levels of security, even in schools, so for once they don't have to lie their way in. The gym is covered in green and purple streamers, beaded necklaces litter every surface. Of course Dean is immediately drawn to the buffet table overflowing with baked goods and drags Sam behind him as he makes a beeline for the punch bowl.

They idle by the table full of food for most of the night, only occasionally receiving an awkward glance by students or a chaperone. It's painfully obvious that Sam and Dean don't belong there, but seeing as how they're not causing trouble (unless you count hogging the cupcakes trouble), no one bothers them.

Dean keeps looking over at Sam, hoping he's having a good time. But he's got his back against a wall, slouching and looking out over the dance floor to the bobbing heads and pumping fists of the students. Dean looks down and sees Sam's foot tapping incessantly to the beat of whatever this shit is that the DJ's playing, and he feels a little bad that all he's done for a half hour is stuff his face full of free food. Dean swallows the rest of what he swears to himself will be his last brownie and turns to Sam, smiling. "Wanna dance?" he yells over the music. Sam looks at him incredulously, his eyebrow raised, silently asking Dean, _are you kidding?_ "Seriously, let's go!" Dean grabs his hand and again drags Sam behind him and onto the dance floor.

The minute Dean's foot hits the floor, the upbeat dance song gives way to a sappy 80s ballad. Dean turns and grins at Sam, who groans, "You're really going to make me dance to REO Speedwagon?" Dean's grin gets impossibly wider as he lets go of Sam's wrist and places his hands around Sam's waist. Sam's a little taken aback and it takes him a few seconds to recover before he's draping his arms around Dean's shoulders. Sam rests his chin on Dean's shoulder, thinking this might be the last time he's able to, what with the way he's growing; he'll probably be taller than Dean next week. He lets his mind wander, aimlessly moving his feet and swaying along with the music as Dean softly whispers the song's lyrics into his ear.

Sam lifts his head until his mouth is level with Dean's ear. "Thanks for bringing me here, Dean. You know you didn't have to."

"I know," Dean replies, and Sam can tell he's wearing that cocky grin, "but I could tell you really wanted to be here, and I'm just the best big brother ever. Also - and if you ever tell anyone I said this I'll kill you - I kinda like this." Sam grins and kisses Dean's cheek as the song ends.

A dance song begins, incessant clapping accompanying an electric guitar. Dean expects Sam to walk away from the dance floor, but is completely taken aback when his hands remain around Dean's neck. "S-Sam?" he chokes out as his brother's hips start gyrating, small, barely noticeable movements at first.

"I wanna dance, Dean," Sam almost whines, and Dean just can't say no. His hands are riveted to Sam's waist, mind not sending the signal to let go. Under his palms, the movement of Sam's hips becomes more distinct. Sam plasters himself to Dean, and they're both immediately, blindingly hard the second Sam grinds their dicks together. Dean can't help the groan that escapes his throat, and he wrenches one hand away from his brother's hips to grab at the nape of his neck and pull him in for a kiss. It's heated, passionate, not something they get to do often under the constant watch of their father.

Sam's hips never stop moving and he breaks the kiss to turn himself around in Dean's death grip. One of Sam's arms slinks its way back around Dean's neck and his head lulls back lazily onto Dean's shoulder. His ass grinds incessantly on Dean's dick, the friction so good Dean can't even think straight. The song's chorus calls for "hands in the air" and Sam's arm shoots up. Feeling it's the appropriate response, Dean lifts his arm as well, linking his and Sam's fingers together in the air.

Dean lets his other hand wander down to the hem of Sam's jeans. He discreetly pops the button out of its catch and slithers a hand into Sam's briefs. Sam whines constantly in his ear, breathy moans and words of encouragement. He's still grinding his ass against Dean, not letting up in the least and Dean's close, real close.

With a few pulls Sam's coming undone in front of him, splashing hot and wet against Dean's hand. Sam wiggles the hand that's around Dean's neck down and wedges it between his ass and Dean's dick, palming his brother. Dean comes just as the last lines of the song fade out. He's embarrassed, almost, because there's no way that song was any longer than four minutes. Another upbeat dance song begins, this one with a lot of bass, but Sam's boneless against him. Dean discreetly pulls his hand from Sam's pants, wiping the mess on Sam's shirt. Sam mutters a quiet "Jerk" as he buttons his pants and rights himself. Dean still has his hands glued to his brother's hips, and Sam turns in his grip to face him. They're both all smiles, sated and suddenly tired. The heat, the dancing, the orgasms had all taken their toll. Sam looks up at Dean and grins before pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth.

"You ready to go?" Dean asks, pulling his hands off Sam's hips, instead grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together. Sam nods sleepily and lets Dean lead him out the door.

They reach the car and Dean looks over the hood to ask Sam, "So, did you have a good time?"

Sam scoffs, but is all smiles when he replies, "Do you even have to ask?"


End file.
